They wandered around the lake after lunch. After Laila’s stunt with the food, Vasso seemed to have doffed his shell. They chatted, laughed, and knocked into each other as they walked.

Ranvir felt awkward being present at this moment in Vasso’s life. Shiri didn’t seem bothered. “Part of her responsibilities as a chaperone,” she said. “To avoid certain kinds of incidents.”

It wasn’t hard to figure out which kinds she was talking about. Ranvir wouldn’t have traded Frija for all the worlds he’d visited, but she’d provided him with more hard days and long nights that he could count. If not for Persistence engraved into the Fundament of his soul, he might not have lasted through it all.

Vasso wouldn’t let it get that far… though he’d never had that talk with him.

“What are you thinking about?” Shiri asked.

A path wound around the lake, often narrowing until two people couldn’t have passed next to each other. Other times cleaving so close to the lake, you could hear it eroding the sandy soil underneath your feet.

On the other side, the forest stretched out, fingers crossing grassy plains until some trees were growing into the water. Their long roots sinking into the lake before meeting at the trunk, rising into a drooping canopy that occasionally sank back down to rest wide leaves on the water.

“I was thinking of those roots,” Ranvir pointed to a narrow bit of the path. Vasso was currently helping Laila through it. “Kind of looks like cages.”

Shiri cocked her head, looking at the trees in question. “If they trap anything, it’s going to be really slow.”

“World’s laziest rock.”

She smiled, though the comment wasn’t that funny. She lifted her skirt with one hand to avoid where the lake had invaded their route. Unconsciously, Ranvir took her hand to support her as she stepped across. It wasn’t until she’d passed him he realized what he’d done.

Following behind her, he stomped on a platform of space, avoiding the water that way. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes lingering on the network of purple lines before they faded.

“I didn’t know what it meant when you came back from the Awakening,” she said.

“Nor did I.”

“It’s weird to think I’ve ever been so reckless.” She shook her head as if reminiscing.

Ranvir turned to look out over the lake, ripples from the many waterfalls descending the towers rolled across the otherwise idyllic waters.

“This is beautiful.” Shiri stepped up next to him, fanning her face. “It is quite hot, though.”

“That’s Korfyi for you. Limclea is actually one of the cooler countries.”

She gave him a lingering look, hard to parse. “Well, Limclea could use a bit more of a breeze, I think.”

Ranvir cocked his head. “That would disturb the lake too much, I think.” He gestured to the mostly calm waters. The continuous ripples were small this far from any of the towers and formed intricate, ephemeral patterns that caught the eyes. Beauty in the moment.

“Maybe something a little more local, then.” Her eyes crinkled in unspoken amusement. Ranvir noted the two younglings sneaking ahead further down the path.

“Maybe there’s a contraption or ritual you could build,” he dismissed the idea. There was already way too much on his plate to deal with this issue. Besides, it really wasn’t that bad. She just wasn’t used to the heat. “Might be we should catch up a little.”

She followed his gesture and nodded. “Might be,” she echoed, that amusement lingering in her voice.

Later, they came across a fallen tree. Ranvir, having noted the issue when Laila and Vasso had to traverse it, had a simple solution for himself. The path narrowed and dipped slightly, while the trunk was wide enough that it reached almost hip height on the shorter girl.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Shiri distracted him as some fish leapt out of the water, so he didn’t see how they got over it, but Shiri should be able to just step over it. If not for the skirts. Sure enough, the red-headed woman slowed, the heat plastering stray bits of hair to the sides of her face.

As she looked over her shoulder, Ranvir hardened a path of stairs. She blinked, seeing the network of purple lines outlining a narrow road going over the trunk. He’d reinforced it far more than strictly necessary, which made it look solid enough that even an untethered should trust it.

She sighed and tentatively placed a foot on the first step. “You know,” she muttered, testing her weight nervously. “This really isn’t the proper way to do this.”

“Oh?”

She nodded, still testing the solidity. “It would’ve been fine and proper if you just helped me over normally. No need for this…” she gestured vaguely at the space manipulation.

“I can do that.”

She snapped into a standing position so quickly, Ranvir expected to see a haze of light emanating from her. “That would be-“ she let out a scream as Ranvir took her by the waist and hoisted her over the fallen tree. She stammered as he leapt over, pointing a finger at him.

“That wasn’t appropriate,” she said, flushed deep red.

“I… I’m sorry,” he said, giving up defending himself before he’d even begun.

She cleared her throat, looked away from him, and straightened her skirt. “It’s alright. I should have been more specific.”

Ranvir beat his wings in agitation. The breeze was just strong enough to ripple the curly hairs escaping her bun and gleaming in the sunlight. Eyes narrowing, he beat his wings a few more times.

Shiri turned around, her face mostly cleared of the flush. “That’s nice,” she said, amusement back in her voice. Closing her eyes, she let the winds brush over her. Behind her, Ranvir could make out Laila and Vasso looking in their direction, though he didn’t listen in.

They were probably wondering why she screamed.

----------------------------------------

“I did not scream,” Shiri muttered into her wine. “It was a lady-like yelp from your rough treatment.”

Ranvir smiled into his mug, choosing silence over argument.

Her eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re thinking. I’m right. It wasn’t a scream.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Nope.”

She drove a knuckled finger into his ribs. “Ah,” she hissed, cradling her hand. “Are you made of stone?”

Ranvir paused, considering how to answer.

“That’s a yes or no question, Ranvir.”

“It kind of isn’t.”

She shook her head and took another sip of her wine.

The Flying Willow was a fine two-stage eatery. The first floor held a more relaxed air. Tables were loosely spread around the room. There were no reservations and orders happened at the bar where Ranvir and Shiri were currently sitting, waiting for dinner. People were gathered in loose chunks, mostly pointed toward the stage.

A set of stairs led to the mezzanine. Here tables were reserved, often partially isolated from the others, with servers taking orders. All the mezzanine tables had an excellent view of the stage.

An older man with a big bushy gray mustache was preparing to perform. Ranvir spotted two or three instrument cases sitting next to his stool. Ranvir’d seen the flute, assumed one was a harp from the shape of the box, and the last likely a drum. A traditional instrument for folk tales and old songs.

Though that one probably wouldn’t get pulled out until late in the night. Well after they’d left. “I have a stone reinforced body,” Ranvir said.

“Was that how you lifted me so easily?”

“You don’t weigh that much.”

“What does that mean?” she gave him a mock offended look. “‘That much’?” she sniffed.

Ranvir stared at her wide-eyed for a moment, fumbling for words. “Oh look, dinner,” he said, noticing the barkeep bringing plates over. The first string on the harp was strum. “And the bard is playing. Let’s go find a seat.”

She gave him an arch look, but he had enough male fortitude to power through it. She chuckled once she thought he couldn’t hear. Which was a good sign? They sat down at the table, digging into their food as the bard started playing.

He began with a few simpler songs, though Ranvir hadn’t heard them on a harp before. Then he transition into some more exotic numbers before returning to the familiar. The man’s voice somehow perfectly straddled the line between worn and clean, changing sometimes within the verse of a single song.

The crowd turned to silence as the bard began his next song. Even though Ranvir had never heard Rose in the Morning Wind on strings before, even he recognized the beginning tune.

“I wouldn’t dare compare her to the dawn,

For fear of the sun wrath sworn.

But not even a Rose in the Morning Wind.

Could warm my mourning mind.

If she ever left.

If she ever left.”

The song detailed the story of a young man’s love, comparing her to the wonders of nature, yet all of them left him only wanting her more. Yet with each new line, his own insecurity passed through the text, fear that she didn’t want him as much as he wanted her. Could anyone ever need anything as much as he did her?

Though the song never gave an answer to the lover’s question, Ranvir had heard it played to imbue the ending with a positive tone. More rarely, he’d heard it played sadly.

But the bard, having snared the room’s attention, let the song fade out on a note of mystery, playing the strings in a slightly different order after the very last line. Leaving the question up for the audience to answer.